


A Mother's Tale

by godofpancakes (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Dinerverse [7]
Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Adoption, Entirely Too Much Weaving, F/M, M/M, Married Couple, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Sibling Incest, World Tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/godofpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frigga weaves a tapestry as her sons grow up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shedding

The room hummed with the industry of gathered women. Frigga bent over her loom drawing comfort from the ebb and flow of conversation as it eddied around her. With infinite care, she set her shuttle to it’s work. The pattern had risen in her dreams the past three nights, clear as a vision. On the first day, she sketched it on paper, on the second she choose her thread with care and today, the third day, she would began the work. It would take a long time, the pattern was an intricate one and large. When it was finished, the tapestry would cover a marriage bed. Whose bed had not yet come to her and she did not trouble herself by wondering. Her visions were gauzy cloudy things at best and she let them keep their own council.

“Mama, what are you doing?” Thor emerged into the circle of women who clucked and scolded as the prince climbed into her lap.

She set down her shuttle to hug him and kiss his golden hair. He was too old to stay with women all day to be petted and cooed over. Even now, he should be tucked away with the first of many tutors learning his letters and numbers, but he had taken to slipping away when he grew bored or tired. How could she say no to the sweet honey smell of his hair and vibrant clinging warmth of his affection?

“I’m weaving a marriage blanket, my son.” She carded a hand through his disheveled hair. “Have you given your tutor a merry chase?”

“No.” He giggled, “He told me to tell you that there are horns playing.”

All the talk in the room ceased at once and they all strained for the noise. Too long had the men been at war, battling back the threat of Jotunheim. Too many women had retreated to cry the private tears of grief. They all longed for an end to it all, for good or ill.

“My lady, my lady!” A guard burst into the room, shattering the silence. “Odinking is victorious! Our army returns within the hour!”

“Does that mean Father is coming home?” Thor grinned and Frigga kissed one dimpled cheek.

“That is exactly what it means, my darling boy.” She jumped neatly to her feet, Thor wiggling in her arms. “A feast must be laid. Greta, go to the kitchens and tell them the news. Have them take up the last of the winter provisions, slaughter two cows and prepare as many kegs of good ale as they can. Dana and Joan, gather the maids and have them ready guest rooms. We’ll have to sleep several to a room, there’s no help for it.”

“Yes my lady!” Chorused the women even as she continued to issue orders.

“What about me?” Thor asked.

“You, dear boy, must have a bath and clean clothes.” She kissed him again before handing him off to an open armed maid. “See that he’s ready to be presented to his father.”

When the last order was issued, she retired to her bedroom. She shed her workaday dress and plucked a fine green velvet from the closet. There was no one left free to help her dress, so she did up her own laces and plaited her own hair. It reminded her of her long ago wedding night and the symmetry pleased her.

A gentle knock on the door interrupted her reverie. Her ladies often had such a timid knock that one strained to hear it, “Come!”

“Ah, how long have I missed this sight.”

“Husband!” She jumped from her chair and was in his arms before decorum and dignity caught up with her.

He had not taken the time to change from his armor and the cool metal of his breastplate cut into her even as they kissed. The press of his lips was the same as it ever had been, solid and reassuring.

“Wife.” He pulled away slowly, a broad smile creasing his careworn face. There were new wrinkles to his skin, more gray in his hair, but she loved him only more for it. “How have you fared?”

“Well.” She smiled back at him, warmed through and through. “And you have won the war.”

“Some will consider it a victory.” His face clouded, “It is a hard won compromise. I will tell you all later, but first there is something I must show you.”

“Of course, whatever you have need of.”

He went back to the door, glancing in either direction then signaled to a young guard, who carried a small bundle. Clearly uncomfortable, the young man delivered it into his king’s arms, before disappearing down the hall. When Odin turned to her, the world stilled. Cradled in his arms was a beautiful infant all pale skin and wide dark eyes.

“A child.” She breathed, instinctively reaching for the small body, “Where did it come from?”

“A spoil of war.” Odin said gravely, settling the blanketed babe in her arms. “Abandoned on the ice, wailing for his monstrous father. When I picked him up from his frozen cradle, he turned Aesir in my arms. He’s ours, my love, I know he is.”

“A Jotun child? Have you gone mad?” The small body was warm against her, but a chill entered her anyway. “This is no casual foundling! You cannot expect me-”

“He is our child, Frigga. No one knows from whence he came and no one ever shall.” Odin reached into the blanket, stroking a finger down the babe’s cheek. “He called to me across the battlefield. I have sensed the Norns’ hands in this. Heard their whispers.”

“You sense the Norns behind every rock and tree.” She sneered, arms rigid with anger. “You cannot expect me to lie to our people. Not about this...what if it grows into a giant tomorrow or next month or year! What will you say then?”

“He was abandoned for his size, can you not tell? No Jotun child is born so small. He is intended to us, Frigga. Just look at him.”

Out of long habit of obeying her husband, Frigga looked. He was a baby just like any other, small and helpless in her arms. Though his eyes were unusually fixed, taking in her face as though setting it to memory. She had always loved the smell of babies, all sweet milk and soft powders. Bending her head, she sniffed lightly.

The baby watched her with his liquid dark eyes as she caught not the smell of milk, but the exact crisp scent of the first frost of autumn that crept into her windowsill when she was a child. The memory was distant, faded to pleasant nostalgia. The baby sneezed and she pulled the blanket tighter around him.

“What does a Jotun child even eat?” She asked helplessly. “What happens to the line of secession?”

“He will take milk as any other child, I suspect.” Was he nervous? She had never known her husband to show the slightest sign of nerves, but now he fidgeted and stared at a point over her shoulder. “Thor will be my heir as always, but perhaps when they are older, the baby may have a fair chance of it. Why shouldn’t he?”

“ A Joutun on Asgard’s throne.” She swallowed hard, “Husband...”

“I am weary of war, wife.” He sat on the edge of her bed which had so often been their bed before he had put on his armor again. “Perhaps having him will help us in the long run, we cannot know. All I knew was that I wanted this child, wanted this son. That to hold him and see his skin run pale gave me a sense of peace I have not known in too many years.”

She stared down at the baby again. He yawned, reveling a tiny pink tongue and soft gums without even the first hint of a tooth. His eyes started to weigh closed, so clearly settled and comforted was he in her arms.

“He will need a name.” She said finally.

“I leave that for you to choose.” He patted the bed and she sat next to him, careful not to jostle the child. “We will tell people that he is our son. They need not know a single detail. We are the King and Queen of Asgard. Our word is truth.”

“You are my son.” She told the baby with all the conviction she could manage.

“You are my son.” Odin repeated, inviolable and heavy.

By the end of the day, their word was truth. The gossip passed quickly around the feast-hall and many toasts were drunk in the name of victory and the new, nameless prince of Asgard. When they were finally able to retire to bed, some thoughtful servant had unearthed Thor’s cradle from storage and set the baby inside it, next to Frigga’s bed.

“My son.” She said softly, kneeling next to the cradle. “Sleep well, prince of Asgard.”

And as she had for Thor when he was a baby, she sang blessings over the baby, weaving tight what little magic she had around him. Then she slipped beneath the blankets and clasped her husband close.

When she woke in the morning, it was to Thor’s laughter and Odin’s booming voice. She blinked sleep from her eyes and remembering, turned to the cradle. It was empty and her heart stuttered. Had her changeling child melted in the night? No...no that was foolishness. Slipping on a dressing gown, she followed the sounds of her family and found them out on the balcony, eating breakfast. Odin held the baby in one arm, picking at fresh baked bread with his free hand.

“Mama!” Thor waved at her from his place at the table, face already sticky with honey and lips wet with milk.

“Good morning, my darling.” She took her seat at the table. “How did you like your first feastday?”

“It was fun! I ate lots and Gregor told me a story about the war. And Father says that the baby is my brother, is that so?”

“It is so, little one, yes.” She raised an eyebrow at Odin who only shrugged. “What do you think of that?”

“He’s smaller than me.” He wrinkled his nose. “He should be the little one. I’m a big boy now.”

“So you are.” She agreed smoothly, even as something deep in her chest wrenched.

“What’s he called?” Thor stood on his chair to get a better look at the bundle. “Father said you were going to decide.”

“Names take time. Sit down, please.”

“They do not.” He declared, sitting down in a huff. “You said you knew my name when I was still in your stomach.”

“That was different.” She sighed, “You shouted your name to me in dreams. Your brother is a quieter sort. Eat your breakfast.”

He picked at the rest of his bread while Frigga and Odin made plans for the day. It would be a quiet family affair, a bit of breathing room before royal duties began again. They settled on a picnic in the far gardens, but not even the prospect of a romp cheered Thor from his sudden sulk. All through the preparations, his bath and the long sunny walk, his usual cheerfulness stayed away.

The baby remained quiet and calm. If it weren’t the occasional blink, Frigga would have thought him a doll. She held him tightly as Odin taught Thor a new game that involved far too much wrestling for her to be wholly comfortable. He was her first born, her beloved child and she was not yet ready to give him up to war games.

“Will you be a warrior?” She asked the baby, rocking him tenderly. “Or will you give your mother’s heart a well-deserved rest and stay quiet and thoughtful? Perhaps you’ll be a scholar instead. You look a little wise already.”

Thor roared as ferociously as he could and the baby sniffled. She braced herself, ready for the first long cry. Nothing came. Did Jotun babies never cry? But Odin had said that he only found the child by its wails. She scolded herself, wishing for tears when with Thor she had only prayed for them to stop. He was a good baby, best not to question why.

“Relent, my son.” Odin laughed, “We must end before thy mother she grows bored and leaves us.”

“You wouldn’t leave, would you Mama?” Thor barreled over, eager to correct his negligence. He stopped suddenly, seeing his usual place in her lap already taken. Gingerly, she juggled the baby so she could embrace both her sons at once.

“I would never leave you, dear one.” She rubbed his arm slowly. “Lay your head in my lap and I’ll sing to you while you sleep.”

“I’m not tired.” He protested, but under Odin’s watchful eye, he did as she bid.

“I wish there were more of you to go around.” Odin commented ruefully. “I should like to lay my head in your lap and listen to you sing.”

“Don’t be foolish, I have a shoulder still.”

So baby in her arms, first born in her lap and husband’s head on her shoulder, Frigga sang for a golden hour under the sun’s approving face. When she was sure her three men slept, she let her voice fade into silence.

Thor’s eyes shot open, blue and clear as the sky above them.

“Mother.” He intoned, not at all her son, but something elemental and pure. “He says that his name is Loki.”

And his eyes slid closed again, his body relaxed, wholly her little boy again.

“Oh sweet merciless mother.” She stared at the sleeping baby, who seemed to smile a little in his sleep. “What have we begun?”

It would be many many long years before she knew the answer to that question.


	2. Picking

The room was empty, but for Frigga bent at her work. Her attendants had begged her to come away, but she wanted a few moment’s privacy to pick up again her most vexing pattern. For months, sometimes years, she let it languish, but today it had come fresh in her mind again nagging for attention. So she sat and worked, making her shuttle dance.

“Mother, what are you doing?”

“Loki!” She gasped as the shuttle skipped, catching it before it could damage the cloth. “You’re not meant to be in here.”

“My apologies, the door was open.”

It hadn’t been, but she did not have the heart to scold him. Already, he looked repentant and skittish as though she might send him away. Perhaps if the others had still been there, she would have. He was too old to listen to women’s talk and too curious to hear their songs. But it was quiet now. She gestured him closer. He should be too big to crawl into her lap, but he leaned into her like a starving plant to the sun so she let him try nonetheless.

“What are you doing?” He asked again. “It’s well past dinner.”

“Is it?” She hadn’t even begun to feel hungry, such was the nature of her work. “I must have lost track of the time. Have you eaten?”

“It’s a marriage tapestry.” He reached for the thread and she braced her hands to keep herself from slapping at his nimble fingers. No one touched her work, no one dared, but Loki had never cared for rules. “For who?”

His touch was delicate and she forced herself to relax. Her son was all that she had wished for him to be, quiet and intelligent, not the least interested in the physical plane. She could not be angry for him for being what he was, his insatiable curiosity included.

“Its not yet for anyone.” She lied. “Now tell me true, have you eaten?”

“No, Mother.” He sighed, burrowing closer to her.

“Let us dine together then, shall we?”

He wasn’t heavy though his limbs were already growing long and coltish. Still, she managed to rise with him in her arms. Thor had fought such clinging long before he was Loki’s age. She knew that others would talk if she saw her babying her younger son, but she could not bring herself to care when he buried his face in her neck and wrapped a hand in her hair.

“I’m not hungry.” He said softly. “I’m never hungry.”

“I know, darling. I know.” She carried him out to the balcony where every star was shining. “But have a little food with me anyway.”

She watched him through their small repast, little more than apples and strips of dried meat. When she put food on his plate he nibbled at it, sipped the milk she poured for him. Once, long before he could talk, she had worried over his thin frame and listless appetite. When she was sure no one would miss her, she had fetched a bowl of snow from a village in the far reaches of Asgard that stood perpetual in frost. Tenderly she had fed the white powder to her small son and watched in despair as he fell on it like a ravenous lion. His lips turned blue as he licked the bowl clean, his breath puffing out white and content. She even fancied that his cheeks, already grown hollow, had filled some. That night, she had had to draw the blankets up to his nose so Odin would not see what she had wrought. He hated any reminder of where their young son had come from.

By morning, Loki had again been as pale as new milk. She never dared to feed him like that again.

Frigga had long since accepted that she would never be the mother Loki needed. She failed him every day with the pain of a thousand tiny cuts. It was only the most bitter irony that it was Loki who tended to her and tried so hard to cultivate her affections and pride. Thor, whom she had given suck and been exactly what she should have, rarely had need of her now. He took motherly kisses and fretting only as his due before returning to his father’s realm of battle and honor.

“Mother, why do you look so sad?” He interrupted her thoughts, reaching for her hand. She clasped his thin fingers.

“I am only thinking of how fast you are growing, dear one. Have another bite of your apple.”

He chewed the white flesh of the fruit slowly, eyebrows knit as he studied her with dissecting intensity.

“Could you teach me to weave as you do?” He asked, dutiful bite finally swallowed.

“Why on earth would you want to weave?” She smiled, “It’s a woman’s job, my son.”

“But you get to do magic.” He protested, a familiar sullenness setting his jaw. Loki never had learned to cry, but he had perfected the art of sulking. “No one else can teach me that.”

“My weaving isn’t magic.” At least none that any had recognized before. She resisted the urge to shake him, to ask him how he knew what so many else were blind too.

“Of course it is. You put in all sorts of protections and runes. You sing over them too.”

“That’s not magic. Only a bit of tradition. Really, Loki. What would your father say if he heard you repeating such old wives tales?”

“If he cannot see the truth in stories, then I don’t care what he’d say.” He pushed his plate away. “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Truly, my son, I cannot.” She lifted her hands to prevent his protests. “My magic is not what you’ve read about in the old stories. It is only what I was born with. A little bit of the Sight, some ability to heal and a talent for song.”

“Then where can I learn?” He demanded.

“Magic isn’t something you can learn like your letters. It just is or isn’t-”

“You’re wrong!” He shouted and they both fell silent. Loki never shouted. “I’m sorry. It’s only...”

He held up his hands to her and with a delicate ‘O’ of his lips blew over the tips of his fingers. A faint orange glow rose up, flickering like a newly lit candle wick. It faded before she could be entirely sure of what she saw. Pain creased his features, but that too disappeared before she was sure of it.

“Loki....”

“I found a book.” He whispered, the air heavy with his words. “I read the words and I knew how to do it. So you’re wrong, Mother. It can be learned.”

And she didn’t dare to contradict him. To tell him that Jotun royalty were known to occasionally be natural mages of great skill. That magic ran through his veins and surely as it did through her own, but from a source so different as to be unrecognizable.

“Then you will be something new.” She said instead and it wasn’t a lie. He was something new, her precious changeling son. “I will find you books and tutors where I can.”

“Thank you.” He reached for her and she wrapped him up in her arms. “I was so afraid to tell you. I thought I’d done something wrong.”

She only held him tighter. No, she was not the mother he needed. She could not suckle him, teach him his magic or even assure him that his natural talents were right and fitting. Frigga was not he mother Loki needed, but she was the mother he had and she was doing the best she could.

Later in the darkness of their bedroom, Frigga described Loki’s success.

“He cannot be allowed to study magic.” Odin frowned. “How can he lead a people who would never trust him? Magic is illusion and illusion cannot be trusted.”

“We’ve denied him everything.” She whispered fiercely. “You would take away this too? He’ll never be a warrior like Thor, but perhaps he can at least keep pace with him if he’s given his own set of tools.”

“Wife, you ask too much.”

“No, husband, I ask too little for him. You ask me to treat him as I would my own flesh and I have. If this were Thor, would you deny him?”

“Thor would never dabble in magic.”

“But what if he did?”

“It’s a foolish question! He would not. He is too much a strong man for that.”

The bed grew markedly colder as Frigga lifted up the furs and found her dressing gown.

“If magic be too female for you, then I will remove the insult of my body from yours.”

“I did not-”

“But you did!” She snapped, drawing the furs of her gown to her. “Do you think Loki weaker for his magic? Then how little you must think of me.”

“You do not have magic! You have Asgardian runes, a healing touch and faint visions. That is not the same.”

“Isn’t it? Because I do not weave illusion?” She shook her head, breads unfurling from their neat pins. “Why did you take him if you will not let him be what he is?”

Odin pulled the blankets tighter around himself. Outside, a raven cried plaintive and angry. They stared at each other, deadlocked until her toes were numb.

“Come back to bed.” He sighed, “Loki may have his magic lessons.”

“At what cost?”

“This does not have to be a negotiation.”

“Yes. It does. What do you expect me to yield?”

“Nothing. Only it is as I said. No one will trust a magic user on the throne. I thought you’d be pleased. Wasn’t it you who always feared that he would inherit?”

“That was before I knew him,” she protested even as she climbed back into their bed. “He would be a good king if you let him.”

“He may yet have his chance.” He pulled her tight against him, their shared heat melting cold from her skin. “Stranger things have happened.”


	3. Battening

“Mother!”

The thread snarled hopelessly in her hands as she bit back an angry growl. The work was barely half-done after so many years and too complicated to rush. While it had languished growing bare inch by inch, she had easily completed a thousand other works for other couples and children. This one fought her.

“Prince!” Greta was already on her feet, always the first to scold. “You cannot enter this room!”

Thor ignored her as he ignored all obstacles. He was a man now but his manner was still that of a boy.

“I require your touch, Mother. It’s Loki, we were wrestling and I injured him.” A guilty flush spread from his neck to his forehead. “I think I broke his jaw.”

“I will come.” She left behind the tangled mess, breaking into a run when there was no one to bare witness.

Private, quiet Loki had not allowed her in his bedroom for years. She found it darker than she would have liked, but otherwise tidy and pleasant. Seated on the edge of the bed, Loki clutched at his face. An ugly bruise was already starting to blossom and her eyes narrowed. Wrestling. Did they take her for a fool?

“Oh, Loki.” She breathed, replacing his hand with her own. Pain flared over her skin and she winced. He turned his face up to her and for a moment, she could see the truth lingering on the point of his tongue. Then his eyes slid to Thor. He would protect his brother as he always had. As if Thor needed shielding from anything. “Hold still.”

When the bone began to seal and his jaw slide back into place, she whirled on her eldest, “You shouldn’t play so rough with your brother.”

“I-” Thor began and there again a near confession.

“It was my fault.” Loki slurred and Frigga’s heart broke. “Anyway we’ll know better for next time.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted one or both of them to climb into her lap and offer confidences. They had grown up without her permission and there was no place for her here between them.

“If you say so.” Resigned, she kissed Loki’s forehead again, searching his eyes. There was nothing there for her to find.

The loom was no solace though when she returned to her work though the pattern remained undimmed in her mind’s eye. The thought of it turned her stomach and she retreated to her rooms. The sickness grew worse until if forced her to her knees. She emptied her stomach in a chamberpot and shuddered at what came forth. Her stomach heaved up clots of blood, chunks of bone and ribbons of skin the color of a cloudless sky. It went on for hours, spilling over her elegant carpets. She fell asleep face down in the squalor and woke, alone and freezing to perfect cleanliness.

A vision then, but one that she could not understand. One that lingered long. Every day she woke thinking she was rid of it and every night she dreamed afresh of that terrible reversed birth. She stopped eating, avoided her bed and her workroom. Her ladies fluttered around her and one dared to send for Valkyrie, but she confided in none of them.

Loki found her staring sightlessly over the balcony. The trees were only now ceding to autumn, a blaze of fiery foliage on the mountains.

“Mother, they tell me you are troubled.”

“Who does?” She rubbed a hand over her face. “None would tell you such a thing that know.”

“Then I observed it myself. I thought it indelicate to say that you look terrible.” He raised an eyebrow, a slight smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“I have had a troubling dream.” She admitted, surprised at her own forthcoming. “I fear for you.”

“For me?”

“Have a care. Whatever you are plotting Loki, have a care. You are too old for childish games and pranks. As you get older, the stakes are higher.”

“What did you dream?” All imperious demands and careful silences, how slippery her child had become. How grown.

“I cannot say.” She twisted her hands together. “Take my warning as it is given.”

“I have no use for cryptic prophecy.” He pushed away from the railing, leaving her and his concerns behind.

“I love you, my son. Please, if you will not have a care for your own sake, have one for mine.”

He paused mid-step with a soft sigh, “Yes, Mother.” Then walked on, leaving her behind.

The dream never quite went away, but it subsided after that, only teasing at the edges of her mind at odd moments. Her clever hands turned to more profitable work, preparing linens for a blushing bride, delivering babies and easing the passage of the dying. If Loki no longer visited her as he had, well he was nearly a grown man now, wasn’t he? He had other things to take his time then to wait on his Mother.

The year’s hunt brought down a massive wolf and she turned her hand to sewing for a time. When she gifted Odin with a new cloak, he smiled at her with a twinkle she had not seen in some time.

“What have I done to deserve such fine work?” He kissed her sweetly as the courting young man he had been so many long years ago.

“You have given me a good life, Husband. The least I can do is see you warm through the winter.”

They flirted like young lovers and she thrilled at the sport of it. Midnight trysts and chases through hallways, idle meetings that ended in lovemaking on a table once used for war strategy and once, even they returned to the spot of their marriage, repeating the vows that had grown careworn between them.

“It cannot always be an easy thing, being my wife.” He confided under the leafy bower that had known them well when they were young. “Why do you persist at it?”

“Because I love being married.” She twined their legs together under his new cloak. “I prefer to be a part of something greater and we have always been great.”

“We have, haven’t we?” He kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her nose. “I do not say enough that I love you.”

He didn’t, but she knew anyway. She was sad to see the winter leave them, taking with it their renewed ardor as his attention must as King turn back to the farms and his people. Still, she kept a small spark of their affection with her, even as the days grew long and their time spent mostly apart. She could quicken a child in her, it was among her powers. A daughter, a strong and lovely daughter, was what she longed for. Someone she could teach and guide, pass on the magic that Odin dismissed as too soft for a man.

Summer saw her already a little rounded in the belly as if the mere daydream of a child were enough to conceive it. Odin caught the swell of her out of the corner of his eye on morning and his hopeful smile was enough to convince her. The next time they made love, she would begin with him again. Even if it wasn’t a girl, they would do well with another child in their lives. Hadn’t they raised two strong sons? A third would only be equally welcome.

When Odin came through her door that night, she thought that his purpose was her own and she made to welcome him to her bed.

“No, Frigga.” His eyes were hard, his face drawn in furious lines. “Not on this night of all ugly nights.”

“What has happened?” Not a war, she wanted to weep, not another senseless war.

“I cannot-” He choked, “Our sons...Loki... I should never have let you encourage the magic. It’s corrupted him. Corrupted both of them.”

“Speak sense, husband! What has happened?” Acid rose in her stomach, painful and familiar.

“Loki...he has bewitched by Thor. I caught them...” He swallowed hard. “They were mounting each other like common beasts.”

She stared uncomprehendingly at him, mind rebelling even as she felt the truth of it.

“I don’t understand.”

“Your precious son has ruined Thor.”

“Loki is _our_ child, you made it so or have you forgotten the Norns’ whisperings to you on the ice of Jotunheim?” She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to accept what she has heard. “He is not always a good man, but he would not coercing his own.... If something happened, then Thor must have accepted it.”

“You were right, it was not the Norns. I know not what evil called to me in their voices. I invited a viper to my nest.” He shook his head, weighed down by sadness. “We must cauterize the wound as best we can.”

“He is my son.”

“Repute him.”

“No!” She took a step away from him, “No, I could not. He is my child. I love him as my own flesh and blood. You demanded it and I made it so.”

“And now I demand that you unmake it.” He growled and closed the space between them. “Frigga, you are my wife and you gave me your vows twice over. You will obey me in this.”

She hissed shrinking away from him.

“Odin, you are my husband and I am bound by vows given to you in good faith. That you use them to sever the tie between mother and child is the most baseless vile betrayl you could commit.”

“You defend a monster.”

“I defend my son.”

“You will repute him.” His eyes flashed with all the dark threat he possessed. “Or break your vows to forces greater than me.”

“I will repute him, but I will never forgive you.” She spat at his feet.

“So be it.”

They stared at each other, the weight of too many years and hurts between them now.

“So be it.” She repeated, vicious and final.

He left her no time to plan a way out. Within the hour, she looked into Loki’s dark gaze and intoned their parting,

“I repute you. You are not my son.”

Her eyes closed against the pain in his. The scene of her terrible vomiting was painted violently against the darkness of her eyelids. She had rejected her own son and in doing so, had lost a vital proud part of herself.

“Wife.” Odin said quietly when it was done and Loki gone forever from their sight. Thor, weeping and half-mad with anger, had torn apart the receiving chamber. They stood in the ravaged room, pottery strewn at their feet. “I have one more thing to ask of you.”

“What would you have of me?” Everything hurt and she barely trusted herself to stand.

“You alone can hold this. We cannot risk anyone discovering it. Without Loki, it is a key without a lock, but it holds some of his power in it and could be dangerous all on its own.”

When she held out her hands, he poured into a soft blue light. It wavered uncertainly in her hand, flicking like a newly lit candle.

“And how would you have me contain it?”

“It whatever way you feel is best.”

A mean smile creased her lips, “I had so hoped you would answer thus.”

The light knew her and when she held it to her face, she smelled the first frost of autumn on the windowsill. Her lips parted and before Odin could protest, she swallowed it down. The cold was a shock to her system, spreading through her veins and bones to settle in. With a soft touch, she guided it to her womb. Let it settle and be safe there, where she had never had a chance to house its owner.

“Now I too am corrupted.” She laughed like icicles breaking in the thaw. “Get out of my way.”

“Wife-”

“No. I am deaf to your voice unless you speak to me as a lord to his lady.” As she brushed past him, she fancied her steps left behind frost. “Until the day Loki returns for what is his.”

That night, she paced in front of Thor’s door, but he would not open it to her. She was tarred with the same brush as Odin then and she did not blame him. Instead, she watched from a distance as her remaining child grew distant and cunning. Perhaps he too had swallowed a bit of Loki’s essence in their forbidden act of congress. Outwardly, he became a model prince, suddenly all humble willingness. When he began to disappear, offering up flimsy excuses, she did not reveal them for the lies they were. Instead, she covered for his long absences, discouraged his friends from hunting for him. Once, she tried to tell him that she understood, but he turned away deaf to her explanations. It had been too long and things were too broken between them. The key had stirred her though, reaching for him through her flesh. It pleased her to think some memory remained to it.


	4. Warp and Weft

Life, as it was wont to do, went on. She learned to hide the symptoms of Loki’s magic, masquerading as the Queen, wife and mother she had always been. There was no one left to notice that she wasn’t herself. The days were routine, careful and busy.

When she sat to dinner now, it was alone, each empty seat at the family table a reminder of what was broken. All her life, Frigga had counseled women, young and old, healed their families and made strong their marriages. What she wanted, more than anything, was for someone wiser to tell her what to do. Instead, she ate her solitary dinners with one hand pressed to her stomach to remind herself why she could not go to break bread with the man she had married.

There were dreams in the night, torn wispy visions that told her of things she couldn’t understand. Plagued, she walked down the Bifrost bridge.

“Heimdell.” She curtsied long, the white spill of her dress lapping over his steady feet. “You know what I would ask.”

“You know that he has bound me not to answer.” He frowned, “He is to be a blank spot in my sight to all, but the King.”

“Of course. Tell me this then, how fares my son?”

“Thor travels.” Heimdell blinked slowly and she knew she had asked the right question. “He seeks and has found.”

“Does his discovery please him?” Her heart raced.

“Yes, my lady. It does.”

“Oh...oh.” She wept and laughed. “Good. That is good.”

And it is all she knew of Loki for two more passings of the seasons. She nursed the small crumb of knowledge and hid it from Odin. Her fingers itched again and at last, she took up the complicated tapestry for good. She worked on nothing else for months. Each time she took up her spindle or her seat at the loom, the small piece of Loki steadied her. She could hear an echo of his voice in her ear asking his endless questions and the faint touch of his hand on her shoulder.

The night before she finished the great work, she stole into one of his dreams. She had not been sure entirely that it was his, but for a certain taste in the air and the way the shadows fell. There was a giant wolf, a sharp-toothed snake and a girl half gone to rot. Each she kissed on their foreheads in greeting. They led her threw the woods to an empty wooden cradle that had rocked both of her sons to sleep. The beasts sat at her side, gentle as lambs, while she sang every good song she knew over the cradle. When she woke, her throat was sore and her mind sharp. She ran to her work room without a care for the state of her hair and clothes.

She worked her fingers bloody and sang despite the rawness. When her ladies arrived to begin the morning work, she begged them to join in her songs until their voices echoed through the palace. They sang through the morning and well into the afternoon until finally she drew her sharp scissors from her pocket and freed the tapestry from it’s wooden prison.

“It’s beautiful.” Her ladies agreed, but none of them dared approach it.

“Send a message to Heimdell.” She instructed, smiling faintly. “Tell him that my son is to come directly to me when he arrives home. He is not to see his father or speak with anyone else.”

“Lady...”

“I do not speak in idleness.” She raised her left eyebrow in a careful arch, a borrowed expression, but the lender would not mind. “Do as I say.”

He came to her on the balcony not a week later.

“You asked for me, Mother?” He refused to come close, standing in the shadow of the doorway.

“Yes, little one.” She held her arms spread wide. “Are you too old to hug?”

“I had thought you thought so.” He came reluctantly, all hard edges and rough smells.

“Never.” She pulled back only enough to search his face and what she found there satisfied her. Uneasy in the moment, he was nonetheless suffused with joy. “Now show me.”

“Show you what?”

Exasperated, she grabbed up his arm and found under his skin the runes that had called to her even in sleep and across many realms. Their nature was foreign to her, but the meaning clear enough. With a soft sigh, she kissed the joining of their names.

“May you walk always in peace with each other.”

“How did you-”

“Why do you insist on imagining me blind?” She tsked. “I am not the Goddess of Marriage and Love for lack of a better title, my son. I know when two people have joined themselves together.”

“You cannot possibly approve.” His brow furrowed in confusion. “You reputed him. You stood by Father.”

“I failed you both then.” She agreed, releasing his arm. “I was not strong enough to stand against your father and I was too foolish to help you before that. Still though...this way was the right way. You would not have found each other, otherwise.”

“I married Loki.” He pronounced each word with its own solid weight as if to ensure the meaning would not be lost on her. “I will not be parted from him again. Nor he from me.”

“Good...that is good. Tell me of him. Please.”

They sat in the open air. It spilled out of Thor like a lanced wound, years of stories. Things she could understand like love, betrayal and care. Things she did not like pancakes, cars and university. What she heard was that where she had failed, others had succeeded. While she was shamed, Loki had made her proud.

“I have something for you both.” She said when Thor was out of stories and could only smile so broadly it must have hurt his face. “Wait here.”

She bundled the tapestry into her arms, undoing it’s careful folds as she stepped back outside.

“Tell him that he asked once if I knew who this was for. I lied.” She shook away her shame, lest it sully the message, “I always knew it was intended for him, but the weight of it frightened me. I knew his marriage would be a complicated one, hard to reach and difficult to live. I should have known it was yours too. It would take both of my boys to make an easy thing so hard.”

With a deft snap of her wrist, it floated out, settling between them. Thor sucked in a breath,

“How could you know?” He reached out, caressing the design. “This...this is what he bares on his back.”

Yggdrasil in all its glory spread dark branches across a cloudless blue sky. Each limb was laden heavy with runes, songs, blessings and her blood.

“You bare it together now.” Tenderly, she began to fold it back up. “You are children of three realms. Midgard has given you both suck when I had no succor left to give. Carry it well, my son.”

“I only came home to get a few things for him.” Thor accepted the heavy bundle. “Gifts for a Midgard holiday. This will be...more than either of us had planned for. Thank you, Mother.”

“You are welcome, always.” She reached up and tucked a strand of golden hair behind his ear. “But there is something I want in return.”

“Name it.”

“I cannot welcome Loki as my son ever again, my word is truth and binding. But I can call him son in law with more pride than any woman as ever said those words before.” She clasped Thor’s rough hand. “Please, bring him home to me.”

“He does not want to return.” Grief colored his voice, but he offered no compromise.

“I do not blame him. But tell him...please, that if he does, he will have all of my love and support. I will not fail either of you again.” With care, she lifted her fingertips to her mouth and blew softly on them until fire came to life searing her skin. “And I can give him back what he may need.”

“You...” He shook his head as she extinguished the flames. “I have underestimated you.”

“And I you. We have all made too many mistakes.” Rising to the tips of her toes, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Give that to him from me as well. A present for a Midgard holiday.”

“Yes, Mama.” He hugged her close and she almost could not bare to part from him. But he had other arms to fill now, so she set him free.

On a whim she set her hand again to her stomach. The key danced under her attentions, full of power. Someday, Loki would return for what was rightfully his and for better or ill, Thor would be set upon the throne. Together they would be a force impossible to fight against. Her sons then were settled, her husband a stranger to her and the vexing work that occupied her for so many years was finished.

What she craved was another child. One that she would not make the same mistakes with again. A new life for a new beginning. She could not go to Odin, could not imagine taking him to her bed. Nor would she take a lover, having pledged fidelity to him.

Something rebellious...something terribly horribly mischievous occurred to her. Maybe this time, she should take what she wanted. Create it from whole cloth. After all, she was good at that.

“Would you mind if I used only a little of you?” She asked the key. It pulsed warm in her and seemed to laugh. “Thank you.”

It took only a thought and a careful song for her to do the work. One moment, there was Frigga and the key. The next: Frigga, the key and the first fluttering pulse of new life. A child of two worlds like Loki, a child of her womb like Thor. A son, she knew almost immediately, a son born in reconciliation.

“What shall I name you?” She asked, laughing as the key and the small life danced with each other. “What are you called?”

“You will call me Balder.” Whispered the first soft breeze of summer. “And I will bring you joy and sorrow.”

“I am your mother, Balder. That is only to be expected.”

**Author's Note:**

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